Stolen

by James Hunt

  “Don’t you walk away from me!”

  Lena turned around and saw a step in the front of a man. She squinted her eyes and recognized Carla Knox and her husband, Rick. They had a little girl. She was only a year older than Kaley.

  Carla shoved Rick hard in the chest. “That’s our baby girl in that bed! And you’re still going back? You’re still working for them?”

  Rick Knox remained frozen like a statue in the hallway, letting his wife pummel him with accusations. He didn’t scream, he didn’t try and stop her, he just stood there and took it, like a weathered rock by the sea that was punished by the unrelenting ocean waves. “And where do you want me to work? We have to pay the bills. Money isn’t just going to appear out of thin air.”

  “They’re killing our baby!” Carla’s face flushed red, and the vein along her neck pulsed with rage. She balled her hands into fists and started to cry, clutching her arms tight around her stomach. And then without another word Rick left.

  Carla buried her face in her hands and collapsed into one of the empty chairs along the wall. Lena adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder and joined her, gently putting her hand on the grieving mother’s back, which only exacerbated the sobs and cries.

  The two remained silent for a moment, Carla regaining control of her emotions and Lena unsure of what to say that hadn’t already been said a hundred times in these hallways, or her office, in campaign speeches, the courtroom, or at the bedside of a sick child.

  “I just don’t understand.” Carla shook her head, revealing a tear-soaked and puffy-eyed stare as she craned her neck to the doors where Rick had disappeared. “Every day he goes back to that… place. He knows what they did. I know he does. But he still won’t quit.”

  “People process grief and pain in different ways.” Lena took Carla’s hand. “Maybe he thinks this is the best way for him to contribute and provide for his family.”

  Carla exhaled, squeezing Lena’s hand. “I know. It’s just all this...” She gestured around to the hospital and her daughter’s room. “You never think it’s gonna be you. You see it on the news, you read about it in the papers. But you think you’re special.” She eyed her daughter’s room. “You try and protect them from everything.”

  Lena slid from the chair and dropped to one knee. “There isn’t anything that can give your daughter back the time she’s lost. But I promise you that what we’re doing with the bill will force the people who did this to your daughter into a corner. Stricter regulations on what they’re pumping into the ground, and harsher penalties for breaking them. It’s going to help prevent this from happening to other families.”

  Carla wiped the tears from her cheeks, her voice calmer than it was before. “If I had to choose between saving my daughter, or saving hundreds of other kids from the fate she’s going through, I’d pick Sadie every time.” She pushed herself from her chair and shuffled back to her daughter’s room.

  Lena followed but stopped at the doorframe. The faint beep of the machine that monitored Sadie’s heart rate was the only sound inside. The lights were dimmed, and Lena left Carla alone with her daughter.

  The elevator ride down and the walk back to the car were more somber than her arrival. The sun was setting on the horizon, and Lena quickly reached into her purse and grabbed her phone. No signal. When she saw the time she stomped her foot. “Shit!”

  Kaley had been released from school an hour ago. She hurried to the car and floored it out of the parking lot, heading for the highway. He’s going to kill me. After all of the dinners, birthdays, and events that she’d missed over the past two years she no longer had any room for error when it came to family commitments. She kept telling herself it would get better, but the trouble with an addict is they always find something to replace their habit. For her, it was work.

  The sun disappeared and a pair of headlights suddenly flashed in the rearview mirror. The truck approached quickly, the high beams flooding through her back windshield. Lena averted her gaze from the mirror that reflected the light.

  The truck rode her bumper. Lena steered right, giving the driver room to pass on the left, but the truck remained glued to her tail, refusing to slow or go around. She pressed her foot on the accelerator, the speedometer tipping from fifty to sixty-five quickly, but the truck kept pace.

  A light nudge jolted Lena against her seat belt, and shook her car. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “What the hell?” The truck rammed harder. The back windshield cracked and metal crunched loudly. The wheel jerked left and right as she struggled to stay in her lane.

  Lena reached for the phone in her cup holder and dialed 9-1-1. The truck turned a hard left, speeding into the oncoming traffic lane, and stayed parallel with her car. A no-signal beep echoed in her ear, and when she checked the phone’s screen there still weren’t any bars.

  The truck slammed into her side, shattering the driver-side windows. The seatbelt clung tight to Lena’s chest and waist, and she felt the shattered bits of glass scrape her cheek. Wind flung her hair in every direction. The force shoved her car off the road’s shoulder, but she jerked back onto the pavement quickly.

  Lena snapped her head left, taking in the mangled brown-and-tan metal on the truck’s side. She tried to catch a glimpse of the driver’s face, but the truck sat too high for her to see. The sedan’s engine coughed a sputtering whine, and even with her foot floored on the accelerator, the speedometer wouldn’t tip past forty-five.

  The truck rammed the driver’s side again, this time succeeding in shoving her off the road’s shoulder. Lena threw her body weight behind the steering wheel to keep the car straight, the view in front of her switching between asphalt and grass. The wheel slowly slipped from her grip, and her arms and shoulders burned from the strain to keep her on the road. Just before she spun out of control, the truck separated and slowed down.

  The tension along her arms eased, and Lena swerved back onto the pavement, keeping her foot glued to the gas pedal. The headlights of the truck returned to her rearview mirror but kept their distance as they followed.

  The skin on Lena’s fingers peeled off the steering wheel’s leather like Velcro. Her arms trembled. Her breaths were sharp. The howling wind ripping through the open windows stung the cuts along her cheek. Then, the pair of headlights in her rearview mirror suddenly disappeared, the truck blending into the night.

  Lena turned around, squinting into the darkness through her cracked rear windshield, but saw nothing. She repeatedly checked her phone and the horizon, hoping for a signal or another car. But neither came to her aid.

  The combination of the roar of the wind and the whine of the engine had deafened her to the rest of the world, and it wasn’t until the second before impact that she heard the truck’s roaring engine as it crashed into her for the final time. The impact was highlighted by the sudden flash of the truck’s headlights. The symphony of light and crushing metal flooded Lena’s senses with confusion, and the ejection of the air bag pounded her face with pain.

  Almost weightlessly, she felt her body bounce violently with every crunching rotation of her sedan as she flipped off the road and into the grass and dirt. The rocking motion stopped and the horn blared a steady din. She tasted blood, and her head ached. The seatbelt was stretched tight against her waist as she hung upside down in her seat. She wiggled the fingers on her left hand and scratched the roof.

  Even though the car had stopped, Lena still felt the motion of the wreck. Her head swam lazily through signals of pain. Her vision doubled, and when the driver side door flung open she saw four hands grip her throat and body then yank her from the car and slammed her face into the dirt.

  “Drop the bill or die, bitch!”

  A vicious kick to the left side of her ribcage triggered a twist at her waist, as the strong grip kept her face buried in the soil. The pain preceded a sudden wetness she felt on the back of her jacket, head, and legs.

  When the attacker finally relinquished his hold, Lena flung her f
ace from the dirt, gasping for breath, and rolled to her side. Clumped dirt fell from her eyes, but even with her vision blurred she was able to see the fist that knocked her unconscious.

  4

  It was the light jerk of the gurney that woke Lena from the lucid dreams laced with pain. She opened her eyes wearily, sensitive to the brightness. The din in her ears was replaced by the dull chatter of voices and the soft beep of machines. She grabbed hold of the wire attached to the clamp on her index finger and ripped it off, which triggered more alarms. The closed curtains around her bed were flung open, and the nurse’s panicked expression quickly vanished at the sight of Lena patting her hospital gown. “Where am I?”

  But before the nurse answered, Jake appeared at her side. “About time you woke up.” He gently ran his hand over her hair and kissed her forehead. “I thought I was going to have to douse you with ice water again.”

  “It wasn’t funny when I was six. It won’t be funny now.” Lena brought her hand to her left temple, trying to end the pounding in her head and suddenly remembering where it originated. “Someone ran me off the road.” Bits and pieces came back in tiny fragments. “There was a truck, a man, I think. He—” But when she caught Jake’s glare she knew something was wrong. “What?”

  Jake turned to the nurse and tapped her shoulder. “Could you give us a minute?” She gave a polite nod and then closed the curtain on the way out. Jake let go of Lena’s hand and gripped the side of her bed. “Is there anything specific you want to tell me about the wreck? Now? Before anyone else catches wind of it?”

  Confusion spread over Lena’s face. “Jake, someone nearly killed me out there. They ran me off the road, beat me. They said—” She stopped herself, trying to hear the voice of the man who’d knocked her out. “It was about the bill.”

  Jake drummed his fingers on the bedside, his lips pursed, and hesitated before he finally spoke. “Lena, when you were brought in your clothes reeked of alcohol.” He kept his voice low, and despite the closed curtain he looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Are you using again?”

  At first she thought she misheard him, but when his eyes remained locked on her, she felt her cheeks flush. “No, Jake.”

  “I’m just saying that you’ve been through a lot of shit this past year, what with the suit against the oil company, then running for office, and now this bill.” Jake flashed the same boyish concern she remembered before her first stint in rehab. It was the only time in Lena’s life when she’d seen her brother look helpless. “I know you have a lot riding on this town hall meeting. It’s not unnatural for you to want to use.”

  Lena tried to push herself up on her elbows, but the pain in her ribs pulled her back down, and she winced. “I don’t need stress to make me want to use. I’m addict. I always want it.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “Yeah, I know what you meant.” Lena cradled her head, the argument only infuriating the throbbing of her skull.

  Before Jake got in another word the curtain was flung back, and Mark sidestepped Jake and rushed to Lena’s side. “Thank god.” Mark kissed her cheek then lightly patted her body as if he would be able to diagnose her wounds. “Are you all right? Jake said you’d been in an accident.”

  “I’m fine.” Lena placed a hand on his cheek and smiled. “Where are the girls?”

  “Back at home. I told them I’d call once I got here and checked on you.” He leaned in and kissed her lips, gently cradling her chin. “You sure you’re all right?” He clutched her hand firmly and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “Yes. Call the girls.”

  With Mark gone, Jake inched closer. “The doctor and nurses who examined you could smell the booze. And so did the guy who brought you in.” He turned and pointed to a man standing in the hallway, a clipboard in his hand, scribbling something down on a piece of a paper. “I have him filling out a statement. But I can’t make him lie about not smelling the alcohol.”

  “I’ve see him before.” Lena squinted at the face and recognized him as the man who’d spoken to Ken Lang outside the diner in town. “He works for the oil company.”

  “His name is Scott Ambers,” Jake said. “He got hired as their new rig manager last month.”

  Lena reached for Jake’s arm and pulled him close. “What kind of car does he drive?”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “It was a truck. The one that ran me off the road. After I wrecked, the driver dragged me out of my car and made sure I couldn’t see his face.” The gritty taste of dirt returned on her tongue, and she remembered the splashes of liquid on her back and legs. “Whoever did this wanted to make me look like I’d been drinking.” But Jake’s expression gave no indication of whether he believed her or not. No matter how long you’ve been clean, even in the eyes of family, people were still skeptical. “Give me a blood test if you don’t believe me.”

  “I already ordered one.” Jake’s firm tone contradicted the gentle touch of his hand on her leg. “I’ve got one of my deputies heading out to the site of the wreck. We’ll take a look around and see what we can find. Was there anything else you remember about the truck?”

  Lena shut her eyes, trying to force the image back into the spotlight of her memory. “It was two-toned color. White and brown, I think.” She sighed, exhausted. “That’s all I can remember.”

  “All right. The doctor will come back around in a few. I told him to give me the blood results first. When I know, you’ll know.”

  “I’m clean, Jake.” Lena crossed her arms as she watched Scott Ambers approach.

  “Sheriff.” He extended the clipboard to her brother, and the close proximity gave her a better look at his features. He was taller than she expected, a few inches over six feet. And though he was thin, his shoulders were broad and his jaw square, which gave him a menacing quality that was accentuated by the dark eyes and bald head. “I’ve filled everything out.” He turned to Lena. “I hope you’re feeling okay.”

  “I’ve been through worse.” Lena eyed him curiously. “I didn’t see anyone else on the road except for the truck that ran me off. Funny how you just happened to be passing through after it happened.”

  But before Scott had a chance to answer, Mark returned, giving their mysterious figure the once-over. “Who’s this?”

  “Scott Ambers,” Jake answered. “He’s the one who brought Lena here.”

  Mark shook Scott’s hand. “Oh my god. Hey, thank you. Thank you so much.” Once done, Mark put his arm around Lena and kissed the top of her head. “I guess we were lucky you were there.”

  “Yeah,” Scott replied, keeping his eyes on Lena. “You were.” He quickly turned to Jake. “If you need anything else you have my information.” And just as mysteriously as he appeared, he was gone.

  “I should get going too. Need to help my deputy with the wreck.” Jake leaned in and gave Lena one more kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Bye, Jake,” Mark said, shaking his hand. “Thanks again.”

  Mark kept quiet until the doctor arrived. The diagnosis was bruised but not broken ribs, a few lacerations to her cheeks that were covered with small bandages, and a black eye. After the hospital staff vacated, the privacy curtains were once again pulled shut, leaving Lena and Mark alone. Mark laced his fingers between her own. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Mark exhaled. “Lena, maybe you should postpone the town hall.”

  “What? No, we’re too close.”

  He released her hand and took a step back. “You’re in the hospital.” He rubbed his forehead and shut his eyes. “It’s one thing to have your office vandalized. It’s another to have someone run you off the road!” When she furrowed her brow, he crossed his arms. “I heard you talking to Jake before I walked in.”

  “I’m not giving in to this.” Although angry, she was relieved to see that his first thought on the wreck hadn’t been a relapse into her past. “This i
s the reason I ran for office. People are tired of being pushed around, and I’m one of them.”

  Mark white-knuckled the end of the bed. “What happens if the next time they come after you it’s with more than just a car?”

  “You don’t think I know the risks? You don’t think I haven’t thought about what it’ll mean? It keeps me up at night, Mark. I haven’t had a decent rest since the civil suit.” The pain in her ribs forced her to calm, and the bite in her words lessened. “They’re coming after me now because they’re desperate. I have them on their heels. I know it, and so do they. Now’s the time to dig in. To press forward.” She paused. “I’m not afraid.”

  Mark paced around the tiny area and stopped at the privacy curtain. “I’m afraid.” He turned slowly, his face cast down toward the floor. “If this is what the bill is going to cost…” He lifted his head. “Is it worth it?”

  “Yes.” Lena didn’t hesitate, and despite the pain in her body, her voice didn’t waver. “We’re almost there.” Lena squeezed his arm. “I can do this.”

  “I know.” And while his tone suggested that he believed her, the lines of his smile told another story. One that had been riddled with the pain and grief of their relationship, which she’d tested the limits of since the very beginning. But through it all he’d stuck with her: the divorce from her former husband, the custody battle for Gwen, and helping her confront a past that was hard to look at. Demons never really leave a person. She just hoped hers would stay buried for a few more days.

  Blue and red lights flashed in the night and flooded the open plains on the side of the highway when Jake pulled up to the crash site where his deputy had located Lena’s car. He parked his truck and joined the officer on the side of the road.

  “Hey, Sheriff.” Deputy Longwood was at least five inches taller than Jake but skinny as a rail. Whatever intimidation his height offered was offset by a gentle face and kind eyes. The two had gone to high school together and joined the sheriff’s office at the same time, but while Jake climbed the ladder, Longwood preferred the backseat. He flashed a light into the darkness, which illuminated the battered taillight of Lena’s sedan. “Nasty wreck. How’s Lena doing?”